


Les Printemps Érable

by saigaday



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Multi, Protests, Québec
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2013-05-24
Packaged: 2017-12-12 20:50:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/815906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saigaday/pseuds/saigaday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Premier d'Orleans has just announced an increase in tuition by over 50%. In response students, led by the radical student group Les Amis, have gone on strike. Tension is mounting throughout the province as people become more divided in their support. Grantaire has finally received a break and is being sponsored by a charity to paint a mural for the community. However, with all the chaos in the streets around him, Grantaire is struggling to find inspiration.</p>
<p>Barricade boys as dirty Montreal hipsters posing as Quebec student protesters</p>
            </blockquote>





	Les Printemps Érable

**Author's Note:**

> Hey so I got the idea for this because every time I watch les mis the student protesters remind me of my time in Montreal during the Quebec student protests. I cry so hard every time they get shot because it reminds me of the protesters i witnessed getting gassed and beat by police. So I decided to transmit my feels onto virtual paper so you too can experience the energy and excitement that was the printemps érable.
> 
> My friend coatesa is helping me write this so if you read anything particularly beautiful the kudos go to her.

Rue de Terrebonne lies in the scuzziest cartier of NDG; it is not a welcoming part of Montreal. Near a librarie, a woman wearing fishnets and sloppy, too-heavy makeup leaned against a streetlamp plastered with month-old adverts, chatting quietly with a tattered man sitting on the curb. Another gars approached them and nodded in greeting, offering the others a piece of cheese. They shared it on the filthy sidewalk. 

Grantaire observed this meager scene from his second-floor window overlooking the street, and watched as a scrappy car pulled up and a rough man rolled down the window. The woman’s hair fell across her face as she climbed into   
the stranger’s car. Grantaire glanced over at Eponine. 

“God, I cannot wait to leave this shithole. All my paintings have been grey since I’ve lived here...”

“Oh, you’re so melodramatic. It’s just a poor part of the city, don’t be so harsh -”

“I just saw two hobos and a whore eating cheese on the sidewalk! If they had bread, they could butter it with the fuckin’ grease in their hair, I bet I’m the only person on this block who bathes with any regularity. And that’s saying something!”

Eponine laughed. “Well, R., you can’t leave until you pack the rest of your crap away!” she said as she stuffed another pile of clothes into a ragged suitcase. Grantaire mocked a tragic, woebegone face, moaning “Oh Ep, I feel so weak today... this cartier has sucked my lifeforce out... you must finish packing for me, else I shall fall ill from the exertion!” 

Eponine scoffed and shoved at his arm. “Yeah right, you’re lucky I’m helping you at all. Now get to work on all your art supplies.” Grumbling good-naturedly under his breath, Grantaire moved across his small bedroom (only large enough to fit a cot and a dresser) and squeezed past Eponine into the living space. These two rooms were the entirety of his slummy apartment; Grantaire had largely turned the living space into his studio, with canvases and paint strewn about chaotically. A small kitchenette was across from the bedroom, and a decrepit sofa and television stood against the wall opposite Grantaire’s front door, of which the lock was broken. (Grantaire had compensated with many chainlocks, but still felt uneasy about it.) He shared the bathroom of his downstairs neighbours, which explained the general ripeness about him.   
R. eased through his cramped living space, being careful not to touch drying canvases, and started gathering up his various paintbrushes. Absentmindedly he glanced at the old television, which Eponine had turned to Radio Canada. The reporrs were currently blathering about some student protest that had recently happened in Montreal; Grantaire listened with half an ear. He liked knowing what was going on in the city, even if he was apathetic about it. Idealistic activists were almost fascinating to him; he could not fathom how or why someone could throw themselves into a cause for the “greater good.” He obstinately remained uninvolved in such causes, believing and supporting nothing. 

“Did you hear about that? The protest downtown?” called Eponine from the bedroom.

“Yeah. Caused a big fuss with traffic and all, eh? I don’t really get why they’re protesting. It’s not like they can change anything. The Man’s gonna do what the Man’s gonna do, ha.” 

“Oh, come on. You can’t say that! Social change is sparked by revolutions, R. Give me one time in history where social upheaval wasn’t started by a revolutionary group!”

“Um, the Industrial Revolution? The advent of fire? The Green Revolution? The rise of the interwebs?”

Eponine scowled at him, stifling a giggle. “Psh, you know what I meant, R.”

“Okay, yeah. But only one in a thousand ‘revolutions’ ever result in anything, you know that.”

“Come on man it’s a good cause, tuition fees are climbing at a ridiculous rate in this country.” 

“Don’t start preaching to me, I feel like I’m in church.”

“Be serious R I’m not trying to turn you away from sin. I just see this as a way to make a better world for people like us, the bottom of society. ” 

“Hold on...you haven’t wanted to go to school since kindergarten. You only support these riots because you like creeping all the smexy hippies” 

“Whatever, you’re one to talk. I know where your pants lie when it comes to these granola types.” 

Grantaire wanted to reply with a witty remark but his attention was diverted by a flash on the television so all he managed was a weak, “Yeah....”. He stared intensely at the throngs of red clad youth trying to figure out what had just happened. It had only been for a millisecond but he swore in the midst of the chaos had shone the most heavenly golden light. For some reason it had captivated his soul, floored him and left him standing in the middle of the room gasping for air. His heart was beating faster than it had in years and he was overwhelmed by sensations he had long since abandoned. They confused and frustrated him causing his legs to go weak. Grantaire groped for a chair to try and stabilize himself on something in the sea of emotions he was experiencing.

Eponine called out from the other room, “Yo’ do you have any more boxes. Man you have a shit tonne of art R. I would tell you to control yourself but its all so pretty.”

Grantaire was still struggling to catch his breath and was unable to answer.

"You lazy bum making me do all the work." She said as she poked around the corner to face him directly. However, there was something in the way he was holding himself that seemed off. "R....are you ok? You starting to feel sick or something?"

"I...uh....um" Grantaire didn't know what words could possibly describe how he was feeling.

"Oh my god! Have you been crying?"

That finally jolted Grantaire back to his senses. "Shut up, no I haven't. I'm just..you know..really going to miss this place. It's mildew and centipedes have really grown on me."

"That they probably have.” Eponine doesn’t buy his excuse; she knows there must be more behind Grantaire’s out of character behaviour. Inside she is freaking out, Grantaire never cries so whatever happened must be serious. Despite her concerns she knows better than to press him or face a wall of sarcastic remarks. “Now come on you ass, help me pack so we can get you out of this dump."

"Yeah yeah, I guess it will be nice to be closer to downtown," said Grantaire as he grudgingly began to gather his painting supplies.

"Hell yeah it will! You'll be right beside Parc Mont Royale."

"I was thinking more about the bar district."

"Of course you were. Ugh I'm so jealous, you're going to have so much fun."

"I'm only like an hour away by bus. You can visit me whenever."

"I know, but I'm stuck with the boys for the next little while. Maybe in a week or two."

"Sounds fun. Well in the meantime I guess I'll just get hella drunk on my lonesome."

"Don't forget to check out the protests. They're like right in your neighbourhood!"

Grantaire's mind flashed back to the TV screen and the holy light he had glimpsed. "Yeah sure...I guess," he said, giving an uneasy smile.

Eponine threw the last of R's paintbrushes into a beaten-up satchel. "Finally, we're all done so come on and let's get you started on this new adventure!"

Grantaire didn't share his friend's enthusiasm as he loaded the last box into the sketchy pick-up they had borrowed from a friend for the day. Part of him was suddenly scared to leave and face all of the upcoming uncertainties, but with one last look at his trashy apartment in its shithole neighbourhood those anxieties subsided.

At least most of them.

"Yeah, let's get the fuck out of here."

 

La Maison de L'Amitié stands on Duluth Avenue Est. A petite vegetable garden, just awakening from winter, hugs the front of the three-story red brick building and then climbs the fire escape that residents have co-opted into multi-level balconies, decorating La Maison's crumbling face with the skeletal husks of ivy. 

“Well here we are, aint it quaint. Now hurry on, I have to go pick up Gavroche while I have Babette’s truck.”

“Thanks Ep. You will come visit me?” Grantaire said still feeling more vulnerable than he would like to admit.

“Hell yeah I will! You live beside a freaking portuguese bakery. We are going to gorge on so many tarte de natas we’ll explode. Just you wait this going to be the best year ever!”

“I hope so. Thanks again for the ride. See you soon?”

“Definitely.”

Eponine drove away leaving Grantaire to stare at the old brick building. A peeling, pale mural wraps the wall adjacent to the garden beds in the small courtyard. Here Grantaire stands, staring at the discoloured paint but not quite seeing the pictures in front of his eyes. Instead he dreams of painting pure light over this wall; fire dances smoothly and passionately across his mind and into the mural, almost of its own accord. Grantaire is disconcerted, not having felt such inspiration to create art in a long time. Where were these consuming, passionate feelings stemming from? His strongest emotions were usually no more than a vague ambition in some accidental direction. This inner consumption was interrupted by a clanging crash overhead. Grantaire wheeled around in time to see a man's body tumble down the fire escape stairs, then bouncily pick himself up, smiling ruefully as he brushed himself off. 

"Not to worry, just a few new bruises!" the bald man cheerfully said, starting towards Grantaire with his hand out in greeting. Grantaire shook it awkwardly.  
.  
“Uhh hi....” Grantaire said skeptically, “Are you sure you’re okay? That looked like it must have hurt.” 

“Nah it’s no biggie happens all the time.” The man chuckled, “Oh do you need help carrying these in?” He rushed over before Grantaire could respond and grabbed a box.

“Ummm Yeah....Sure.” Grantaire loaded his arms with as much crap as he could carry and followed the man up the fire escape.

“Woah look at all these paint brushes!” The man exclaimed, “Then you must be the art guy they’re getting to redo the mural.”

“Yeah I am...” The man’s enthusiasm was catching him off guard, “Grantaire’s the name.”

“Wow awesome! Looks like a lot of work. Everyone is the residence has been talking so much about you. And now you’re here..wow. OH I’m Bossuet by the way. hehe Almost forgot that part. I also go by Lesgle, Laigle and Légle sooo you get to pick.”

“Bossuet eh? Do you live here too then?”

“Haha No. I’m I guess you could say friends with Joly. He lives here. But I spend a fair bit of time here so you should see a lot of m...Whoah!.” As Bossuet was opening the door he tripped dropping Grantaire’s box of art supplies everywhere.

“Whoops clumsy me. Haha. Don’t worry I’ll clean this up.” He scrambled across the floor gathering the spilt art supplies. “Wow is this yours! You’re really talented.” He exclaimed upon finding some of Grantaire’s work. 

“Thanks...but those are just some of my old sketches.”

“Really? Wow if this is a sketch I can’t wait to see what you do with the mural.”

“Bossuet is that you? I thought you left.” A feminine voice called out from the next room. “Did you fall again?”

“Yeah it’s me. I’m just helping the new guy move in.”

“Oh shoot that’s my job!” She cursed before popping her head around the corner, a ridiculously bright smile on her face. “Hello! I’m Cosette. You’re Grantaire right? Welcome to la Maison de l’Amitié. Umm so your room is number 4, around the corner there. Your keys are somewhere....just give me a sec.” She booked back to the room she came from. Several seconds of mad scrounging could be heard before she once again appeared key in hand.

“There we go! Now what’s next? ummm So this room here is the common room. It’s sort of a kitchen/dining room/living room all combined into one.”

Grantaire peeked through the door to see a large bright room filled with several couches, a large wooden table and an open kitchen.

“Feel free to use the space as you please. You can use the third cupboard on the left and...” She opened one of the three fridges and began shuffling containers around. “Sorry I was supposed to clean this out before you arrived. uhh I guess you can have the middle shelf in this fridge. There’s a cleaning schedule above the sink. I’ll have to rewrite it but for now you can put your name wherever it says Brujon. He moved out last week. So yeah cleaning supplies are in that closet over there and stuff.”

“You clean much?” Bossuet asked.

“Not much. My last place was a shithole.” Grantaire grimaced “But I’ll try my best.”

“Haha me neither but you better get used to cleaning. Like a lot. Joly is kind of a neat freak.”

“Thanks for the heads up, I guess. But I’m sure he’s not that bad.”

“No he definitely is. But while Joly may have a stick up his ass, (among other things), he’s super nice.”

“Bossuet!” Cossete chided, mouthing “Language!”

“Hehe alright Cosette.” He chuckled as he dropped Grantaire’s things in his room. “Well I should probably be heading out now anyways. You all good to finish carrying your stuff?”

“Yeah yeah, thanks for the help.”

“No problem. Well, have a good evening I’ll see you around.” He headed back out the door, “Toodles Cosette.” 

Grantaire turned back to Cosette who was still standing expectantly to his left as if she had something more to say. The weight of his luggage was starting to get to him and he headed to his room to put it away.

“Wait!” She called out and Grantaire paused in the doorway to his room. “I.. I almost forgot dinners at seven. Umm it’s a potluck, for the whole residence. We have them on Thursday’s and Sunday’s. They’re nice because everyone brings a dish and such. But you don’t have to bring anything since it’s your first night and you probably don’t have any food.”

“Cool...see you then.”

“k....umm if you have nothing to do till then, I’m watching The Office. You’re welcome to join.”

“Uh..” Grantaire struggled under the weight of the boxes in hand. “I think I’d like to get unpacked first. But maybe some other time.”

“Right.” She nodded. “See you at seven then.”

“Yeah seven..” Grantaire grunted as he quickly dumped his crap on his floor. 

Like the common room his room had a lofty feel with a large window that filled it with the light of late afternoon. He felt like that window would be a bitch in the morning, especially after a long night on the town. But for now it just glistened across the walls, the shadows of the drapes dancing in the spring air. He wanted to paint it.

The window overlooked the street and Grantaire had a great view of the surrounding neighbourhood. People were strolling down the street beneath him, heading to one of the many ethnic restaurants in the area. He had a great view of the mural he was going to have to paint he imagined he would get to know it far more intimately over the ensuing months. At its feet the garden shimmered in anticipation for the summer ahead. Even though it was still bare from winter the soil was ready and waiting for the impending bounty. 

And then to its left, in the middle of the courtyard piled Grantaire’s luggage, a mountain of future labour just waiting to be hauled away.

“Tabarnak...” Grantaire groaned...”Best get started I guess.”


End file.
